


how to not fall in love

by rushie



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew (Video Games), Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Case Fic, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rushie/pseuds/rushie
Summary: an unhelpful how-to guide
Relationships: Nancy Drew/Frank Hardy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. step one: never meet in the first place

**step one: never meet in the first place**

“Put your back into it,” says Joe. 

The beam of his flashlight bounces around the cave (mine? either? both?) like disco lighting in a nightclub. Frank, already knee-deep in a hole of his own making, sticks the shovel into the ground and heaves out another mound of dirt. 

“Maybe you could put  _ your _ back into it for a change,” says Frank.

Joe snorts. The flashlight beam does a complicated wiggle on the far wall. “No way. I do  _ not _ have the shoulders for that kind of digging. What even  _ is _ that? Clay?”

Frank grunts. He is tempted to tell Joe exactly what he could use his  _ shoulders _ for, but two things happen almost simultaneously: the shovel hits something in the dirt with a muffled, dusty  _ thump _ , and a part of the stone wall that probably shouldn’t be moving slides to the side and reveals a secret passageway and, in the doorway, a young woman. She is wearing hiking boots and carrying a flashlight and a garden trowel that is wholly unsuited to the task of digging in this clay-dirt. They all stare at one another.

“Hello,” she and Joe say at the same time. Her gaze flicks between them: Joe with his bobbing flashlight, Frank smudgy and holding a large shovel.

“Who are you?” she asks, the same time that Frank does.

Her chin lifts, just a slight tilt as she sets her jaw. “You first,” she says. The trowel is at her side, but Frank thinks that there is an implication of a threat there. He isn’t quite sure what she would do with it, but he doesn’t really want to find out.

“I’m Joe Hardy,” says Joe. He places a hand, fingers splayed, on his own chest, then uses his free hand to gesture to Frank as if Frank is a main attraction and not a dirt-covered young man in a hole. “And that’s my brother, Frank.”

“Oh,” she says. Something has changed about her tone. Her chin dips down. The trowel starts to look more like a garden tool than a weapon in her hand. “You’re the Hardy Boys. I’ve read about you in the newspapers.”

Joe’s chest puffs up. “Yep, that’s us. Hardy Boys is our name, solving mysteries is our game.”   


Frank considers lying down in the small hole he’s made and burying himself. “That slogan is, uh, a work in progress,” he says, glancing sidelong at Joe.

“I’m Nancy Drew,” she says.

Joe drops his flashlight. The light spikes up and then spins around the cavern, forgotten. Joe bounds forward to shake Nancy’s hand--the one holding the trowel--like a politician.

“Holy  _ wow _ ! Nancy Drew!  _ The _ Nancy Drew! I’ve read about  _ you _ in the newspapers! This is so  _ cool _ ! What’re you doing here?” He gasps. “Are  _ you _ looking for the treasure, too?”

Nancy appears to be doing some quick calculating. She takes in Joe, and then her eyes flicker back to Frank, still leaning on his shovel in the hole. “Yes,” she says finally. “Sort of.” Her shoulders relax. It is a slow uncoiling of tension in her body, and although she still looks poised and sure of herself, she is no longer a wound coil, ready to spring. “I’m investigating for someone who thinks their house is haunted. They’ve been hearing strange noises, especially at night. The house is right above this…” She waves her hand to indicate the room, if it could be called that, in which they stand.

“You heard us digging?” Joe asks.

Frank snorts.  _ Us _ .

“I heard  _ something _ . I’ve actually been hearing something for the last couple of nights--was that you guys, too?”

Frank and Joe exchange a look. “No.”

“Hmm.” Nancy taps her finger to her lips for a moment. Frank focuses on the motion for a long moment and then looks away, swallowing hard. “How did you guys find this place, anyway?”

“We have a map,” says Joe.

“Part of a map,” amends Frank. He extracts it from his pocket and flaps it out. One edge is jagged and wispy.

“Frank is a map nerd,” Joe continues breezily. “He figured out what the rest of the map looked like, and it brought us here.”

The back of Frank’s neck goes hot as Nancy turned her gaze to him. Her eyebrows are arched and she looks--impressed. “Anyway,” he says. “I think I’ve found the treasure.” He drives the point of the shovel into the ground again and is rewarded with the  _ thunk _ ,  _ thunk _ of it hitting wood.

Nancy brightens. “Let’s have a look.”

She crosses over to the hole and hops down next to Frank. There isn’t much space here--he had not dug the hole to accommodate two people--and they’re shoulder-to-bicep in the small space as they crouch down to see what Frank has found. A cursory dust-off of the box reveals a puzzle lock. Frank glances over at Nancy, who looks back at him with an eager grin. Her eyes are luminous even in the low light. The intensity and closeness of her direct gaze makes Frank’s chest pinch. He inhales and exhales through his nose, naming constellations in his head to get his focus back to the task at hand.

“I hope it’s gold,” says Joe, and it startles him. The younger Hardy has crouched beside the hole, his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t think so,” says Frank. “The pirate who supposedly hid this here called the woman he loved his ‘treasure.’ I think he intended to come back for these things eventually. It was everything he had left from her when she died.”

“Oh!” says Nancy. “I found some old letters upstairs that the homeowner says came with the house. They must be from the pirate whose map you found.” She gives Joe an apologetic look. “Sorry, but I think your brother’s right on this one.”

Frank is heartened by the agreement. He isn't following the progress of other detectives like Joe, but even he has read about Nancy Drew.

Joe rolls his eyes. “Listen to you two! That’s just pirate lingo. A play on words. I’m sure it’s gold.”

“Well,” says Nancy, sliding pieces of the puzzle lock around with a rapidity that’s intimidating and impressive all in one, “I think we’re about to find out.” She places her fingers on the last sliding tile and smiles at Frank again. “Shall we?”

Unfortunately for Joe (and fortunately for Frank, who  _ loves _ being right), the chest is empty of gold. It does contain a locket, more than a few love letters, a very old sketch, a bundle of ribbons, and, much to Joe’s horror, a large brooch with a window that allows them to see the lock of hair inside. Maybe predictably, they are forced to run for their lives when some of the more overzealous treasure-hunters the brothers have encountered in their search (some responsible for Nancy’s homeowner client’s woes), the wooden box bumping along against Frank’s chest. They nearly die twice--once when the other treasure hunters attempt to cave in a part of the old mine, and again when Joe takes them on a wrong turn and they nearly fall out of the mine and down a very steep, very jagged cliff. 

“This is why,” huffs Joe as they finally collapse, safe and sound, on a patch of grass, “Frank is the map guy.”

“I didn’t have a map of the mine,” Frank points out. He sets the wooden box down on the ground, resting partially on top of his foot.

“What do you think we should do with that?” Nancy asks. She toes the box with her hiking boot.

“ _ Burn _ that thing full of hair, for one,” says Joe, shuddering. “That’s gotta be some kind of witchcraft.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “It’s a mourning brooch. They were pretty common. I’m sure the museum in town would love this stuff.”

“I need to head back that way,” says Nancy. “I could drop it off.” Something occurs to her, then, and a slight wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. Her nose scrunches. It is relentlessly adorable, a word that Frank tries to expel from his mind because Nancy Drew would undoubtedly scalp him if she knew he had thought such a thing about her.  _ Adorable _ is not a word for Nancy Drew. “Uh,” she says, and gives a little laugh. “Do you think maybe you guys could give me a ride?”

After they take the chest to the museum and are greeted by a delighted curator, Frank and Joe drive Nancy back to the house where she’s staying. She climbs out of the car and comes around to the driver’s side door, bending down to look at the both of them.

“Hardy Boys,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.” She salutes at Joe, in the passenger seat, then turns and offers her hand to Frank. He shakes it. She has a firm, sure grip. Her hand is pleasantly cool. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” she says.

Her eyes are very, very blue.


	2. step two: limit contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” says Joe. “Still. It’s weird to be detective’d. Or Nancy Drew’d.”

**step two: limit contact**

It’s 3 a.m. in Brussels when Frank’s phone wakes him. The jaunty stock ringtone and vibration vie for  _ most annoying wakeup sound _ as he pushes the covers off and sits up. The hotel room is smudgy and intangible in the darkness. He rubs at his eyes, which does nothing to make it look more substantial.

In the other bed, Joe is slapping at his nightstand with his open palm, his face still buried in the pillow. He mumbles something that sounds like, “Fie moo mimuts.”

“It’s mine,” says Frank. His still-mostly-asleep voice is gravel and tastes like mint toothpaste. A bottle of water waits for him on the desk beside the television, but it’s too far. The phone vibrates across the table again. He does not recognize the number. The screen is cool against his cheek. “Hullo?”

“Frank Hardy!”

The memory of the voice is slow to penetrate the sleep-fog clouding his brain. It pushes through in small bursts, finding holes where it can: a shovel, a wooden chest, a hidden passage in a rock wall. He comes more awake.

“Nancy Drew,” he says.

Joe sits up in the other bed, his head smacking against the small reading lamp fixed to the headboard. Frank leans forward, one hand curling into an anxious fist, but Joe waves him off. Frank removes the phone from his ear and pushes the speakerphone button. Nancy’s voice--bright, confident--fills their dark hotel room. It feels like cool satin against his bare arms. Frank turns on his bedside lamp.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Nancy is saying, “but I could use a hand with a case I’m working on.”

Joe’s eyes are in danger of popping out of his head and rolling around like marbles on the hotel carpet. “Nancy Drew wants  _ our _ help?” he yelps, entirely too loud for 3 a.m.

“Hi, Joe,” says Nancy. She laughs. “Don’t sell yourselves short.”

“I hope it’s nothing you need us in close proximity for,” says Frank. “We’re in Brussels.”

“Oh!” There is a pause. Frank can almost hear Nancy calculating the time in her head. “Oh, my God! It’s the middle of the night for you guys. I can—”

“Don’t worry about it!” Joe half-screams at the phone, which is still in Frank’s hand. He waves his arms around. His silent mouth forms the words,  _ What are you doing are you crazy Nancy Drew wants our help on a case _ . “We’re already up, so hit us: what’ve you got?”

“Well,” says Nancy. She teeters. “If you’re sure…”

“Positive,” says Frank. He means it, but Joe is also waving a pillow threateningly in his direction.

“Well, then. I think I’m in need of a map guy, and I  _ seem _ to recall Joe mentioning that you were one…”

The back of Frank’s neck begins to warm. He rubs at it with his free hand. “I wouldn’t say—”

Joe’s pillow sails across the room and hits him in the face with a  _ fwumph _ . He manages to retain his grip on the phone, but just barely.

“That’s him!” crows Joe. He intercepts the pillow as Frank throws it back one-handed. “The cipher guy, too, really, don’t get him  _ started _ on the Hill Cipher—”

“ _ Joe _ .” A headache is forming in the space between Frank’s eyebrows. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What kind of map are you looking at, Nancy?”

Nancy’s voice is full of suppressed laughter. Frank appreciates that she doesn’t laugh at them outright. He’s heard before that he and Joe are a low-budget (read: no-budget) standup routine, but it would be embarrassing to have it pointed out to him by a fellow detective, especially one as reportedly as good as Nancy Drew. 

“Well, that’s sort of my problem. I only have a small map  _ fragment _ . I could probably figure it out and reconstruct it on my own, but I’m running low on time, and I thought you might be able to figure it out faster. You know,” she adds, and she  _ does _ laugh this time, but it doesn’t rankle, “because you’re the map guy.”

“Right.” Frank rubs at the back of his neck. “Can you text me a picture of what you have? Once I know what I’m dealing with, it’ll be easier to target my questions.”

“One picture, coming right up.”

A muted  _ beep _ informs Frank that he has a new text message.

“Got it. Hold on.” 

He taps the screen, and Nancy’s picture opens. It really is barely more than a fragment, an old and yellowed piece of paper with jagged edges all around. A palm-sized notebook and a pen sit on his nightstand, beside the lamp. He trades them for his phone.

“Okay,” he says, uncapping the pen. “Just a few quick questions: What year are we looking at for this map?”

“Early- to mid-1800s,” says Nancy. “I’m leaning more towards  _ early _ , just based on some other documents I’ve found in and around the place.”

“Okay. Where are you?”

“Maine.”

They go back and forth with questions for several more minutes until Frank, satisfied, recaps his pen and sets it and his notebook back on the nightstand. Joe takes some time to tell her about the case they’re working on, and Nancy offers a suggestion they had not yet considered. (Joe then goes into paroxysms over how amazing she is, and Frank has to cut off his fangirling after two solid, nonstop minutes.)

“Don’t let this take away from your own case, though,” Nancy cautions as they’re about to hang up. “Seriously. I really appreciate this favor, but I know you guys are busy.”

“Don’t worry,” says Frank. “We can handle a little multitasking. Or,” he adds, glancing over at Joe, who is somehow already asleep again, a small puddle of drool forming on the pillow, “some of us can.”

“Thanks, Frank,” she says, and it sounds so sincere that Frank is momentarily struck dumb. No one, not even paying clients, have managed to sound actually grateful for their help in the way Nancy has.

“No problem,” he assures her. “I’ll call you when we have something.”

Exhaustion is pressing against Frank’s eyes, but he throws off the covers and takes his phone and notebook over to the desk. It takes him a few hours, but it’s surprisingly easy to figure out the larger map to which the fragment belongs. Once he’s certain, he sends Nancy a text message instead. It’s after midnight in Maine, and he doesn’t want to wake her in case she’s asleep. But Nancy surprises him by calling him immediately.

“That was fast!”

It’s nice for someone to appreciate his work; usually the only person who is aware of the lengths they go to to solve a mystery is Joe. Still, the back of his neck starts to warm again, and Frank rubs at it, self-conscious.

“It wasn’t that hard, honestly,” he says. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I was poking around a bit,” says Nancy. “I’m about to go to bed, but then I saw your text. That area is near where I’m staying. I’ll have to go tomorrow morning and check it out. Too bad you didn’t find a picture of the whole map so I know where to look.”

Frank laughed. “I’m good, but I think that would require some magical intervention.”

“Hey, what you just did seems like magic to me. It would have taken me way longer. Thanks again, Frank. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Frank hangs up, the corner of his mouth turned up. When he turns, he finds Joe sitting up in bed, squinting at him. This could be mistaken for shrewdness, but it could also just be Joe’s “I’m waking up, don’t talk to me for another ten minutes” face. With his hair going in several directions and a crease across his right cheek from the pillow, Frank suspects that it’s the latter. But the younger Hardy surprises his brother when he asks, “How did Nancy Drew get your phone number, anyway?”

Frank looks at his phone, sitting on the desk. “She’s a detective, Joe.”

“Yeah,” says Joe. “Still. It’s weird to be detective’d. Or Nancy Drew’d.”

“A little,” Frank admits. He picks up his phone. When he unlocks it, it’s still open to a text message thread with Nancy.  _ Thanks again! _ her latest message says.  _ You’re magic! _ Frank blows air out his nose in a quiet laugh. He adds Nancy’s number to his contacts. 


End file.
